Empire
by Sp00kworm
Summary: Satan is dead. The acolytes extinguished, and the plagued humans destroyed. Years after the battle and Dracula's return, The Brotherhood of Light comes knocking on his doors again. With their weapons drawn and their rams slamming against the wood of his castle gates, the Prince of Darkness breaks his oath to protect the realm of men and plunges them into darkness once more. Songfic


**Empires dissolve and peoples disappear, song passes not away.- William Watson**

Dracula found himself, once again, faced with an invasion of his castle. The Brotherhood of Light had been resurrected time and time again to face him. To try and defeat the darkness once and for all. They had not succeeded yet, and he did not think he would allow them to. Not until someone truly worthy of ending his immortal life came knocking. The shouts echoed off the stone walls of the looming fortress and he sneered at the solid walls before raising a golden, jewel encrusted goblet to his lips. The blood ran down his throat and he drank deeply to try and block out the sound of the thump of rams against his gates. He curled his hands tighter around the arms of his throne, dark, tall and proud amongst the lashings of red, grey and gold, and watched a small pebble fall from the ceiling. It skittered across the floor as the ram slammed against the gates again, but did not break the heavy wood and enchanted steel. The Prince of Darkness found himself chuckling in his throne, his hand wrapped tightly around the metal goblet, the last remnants of blood trickling down the insides of the cup. 

As he sat, consumed by his own laughter, his own insanity, he didn't notice the doors to his throne room slam open. His son, by both immortal and human blood, strode in, his armour clanking harshly, metal scrapping against metal as he made his way closer to the impossibly tall throne. Alucard stared at him, his golden eyes dark, and his shockingly white eyebrows furrowed in anger. His son threw him a snarl and he marched forwards, his sword hand twitching to draw the Crissaegrim from it's sheath. Dracul adjusted himself in his seat, straightening his back against it, but a slither of guilt meaning he could not meet his son's gaze. Alucard threw his hand out to the window.  
"Look at what you've done father! You promised it would never come to this again! A conquest! A bloodbath! You haven't changed at all, and your willing to drag the whole world back into your shadow to prove a point! To try and win back what you lost! You are alone, father, and yet you would seek to drive the world further from you!" Dracula found himself growling at his offspring as he leant forward on his throne, his claws gouging deep into the wood of the armrests. His crimson eyes were menacing and his teeth gritted and bared.  
"And what does it matter? This world is full of rats. Rats breed and multiply. Your precious race would soon re-establish itself. The Brotherhood of Light is at fault for this, not me, boy."

His son snorted at him drawing closer to the steps of the throne. His eyes were alight with burning, passionate fury, and he raised a gauntlet covered hand to point at him with a clawed finger.  
"They sing for your death! They sing for the Prince of Darkness to face them, to reveal himself! They want your head father!" Dracula slowly rose from his seat. The deep red of his coat and the golden, intricate patterns, shinning in the raging orange light thrown out by the torches. With a deep, hoarse chuckle, he licked the insides of the cup before throwing it across the room. He met Alucard's golden gaze.

"Let the bastards sing." His son scowled, disappearing in a swirl of dark coloured bats.

Dracula found himself excited by the prospect of a battle. It had been years since his final defeat of Satan. Years since he'd had to stretch his prowess and powers. He revelled in the time to stretch his wings, quite literally. The throne room doors were heavy, and as he heard the dying hisses of his guards, he heard the torturous thump of a small ram against them. A grin curled his lips upwards as he watched the ram pierce the doors, again and again, until it allowed for a few, heavily armoured units to slip through, evidently alone and without back up. He chuckled to himself, retrieving his goblet from the floor as they skittered about on the edge of the plush, Persian carpet. The Prince held the goblet high, as though toasting to their achievement.  
"Gentlemen! What a pleasure to finally see you burst through my doors." They took a step back as he prowled closer, fangs glinting in the moonlight. "Your just in time for the refreshments." The units stood a little dumbfounded until one of the companions screamed. Dracula held the man by the back of the neck, the front sliced open with a sharp claw. They watched as he squeezed the man's neck, the blood pouring out of the wound and into the goblet he held beneath the stream. The blood gushed onto the carpet and the soldier gurgled before the Dark Prince laughed, snapping the vertebrae in his neck. His head rolled backwards limply and his eyes fell vacant. Blood spilled over the edges of the goblet and Gabriel howled in laughter, his deep, dark chuckles bouncing off the walls. He licked the blood from his fingers before gulping the rest from the goblet. A small amount trickled out the corners of his mouth and down his chin and neck. Snarling he threw the goblet aside, legs apart in a fighting stance.

"That doesn't seem to have quenched my thirst." He then dissipated in mist and plunged his fangs messily into the next soldier, eager to feast on the blood in the room.

The ram drove him beyond mad as he watched from above, in the Clock Tower, as the little Brotherhood stormed his gates. Their silver swords slicing into his minions who valiantly ambled to their deaths. Calculating eyes watched and waited as swords battered against his gates. Moths attracted to the darkness that was contained within the walls. He mused, silently, that they knew not of what, and who, they had disturbed. With a dark, expressionless face, he clenched his fist, and watched them holler and cry as the dead corpses of both sides, monster and human, reanimated themselves and pushed back against them, unhindered by scratches and wounds, even dismembered limbs. The screams only fed his blood lust, his want to tear every single one of them apart. Limb from limb. Piece by little piece.

Stood awaiting the forces in the courtyard he was faced with the image of Marie. A frown of disappointment pulled her shapely eyebrows down. Her eyes were wet, as though she was going to weep, and Gabriel slowly found himself softening. Drawing closer to her, he sighed wistfully gazing upon her like a jewel he could not have. She smiled at him, weakly, raising her hand to cup his cheek, her thumb grazing over the stubble gently. He lost himself, reliving the tender touches and pleasurable caresses he had under lock and key, reserved for the nights he wished for it all to end. The nights he wished to join her. Those nights that ended in a rampage of destruction and death. Quickly, he found himself again and drew away, disregarding the image of his dead wife as he launched himself up and onto the castle walls with a swift beat of his wings. She followed, looking at the chaos. The blood on his hands staining the dirt and forming puddles in the mud. Marie turned to him, her voice a tinkle in his mind.

"Let them in. Let them in." Dracula scowled, heaving himself away from her illusion. He heard them, and her, calling out his name as they pounded against the gates to his castle and the gates to his mind.  
"I don't care." He repeated it over and over, until it almost seemed real.

Finally, the wood gave away, and the forces flooded into the yard, their weapons raised high as they roared together, as one. They chanted and sang of his demise by the hands of the patrons of light. They did not know of his origin. They knew not of who he was, but knew of what he had become. A monster story to tell to children, and a very real truth, who murdered men, women and children, and pilfered their blood to sustain himself. The darkness that lurked in the fortress above the city, and the fury who would destroy them. Oh he was a very real story. And he would be the end of them all.

Staring down at the sea of heads, covered in armour, silver coated weapons raised high as they called for him to face them. The wind billowed his ink coloured, shoulder length hair as he perched atop the Clock Tower, watching the rats run, turn and squirm in the yard aside their heavy ram. A figure dressed in robes of deep purple raised his staff to them and spoke, his voice gruff with age.  
"Tonight my brothers, Dracula is purged from this earth! His head severed from his putrid body and his heart shattered!" The Prince of Darkness watched the preacher sing his praises and snarled before he stood on the ledge of the clock face. Without even a blink, he fell from the tower, down towards the stone. Twisting his weight forwards, Dracula flipped around before his feet thundered into the stone, his fist shattering the cobbles beneath him. The siege army quietened as they watched the dust clear around the figure in front of them.

The preacher behind them snorted and slammed his staff on top of the metal ram.  
"And so the scourge finally shows himself! This is the lord you all fear?! The Vampire who feasts on your children! Would you rather not be rid of him for good?!" The army roared in response and weapons turned to face Dracula. A breathy laugh escaped between the Prince's lips as he rose to look their leader in the eye. He raised a clawed hand and snarled.  
"Something you don't seem to understand. I'm immortal. I. Can't. Die." He then vanished in a cloud of red mist before snapping his whip around in the crowd of soldiers, their heads falling onto the blood soaked ground as he sank in fangs into a barrage of others.

With a battle cry, Dracula snapped himself around, the Blood Whip following his movement with deadly grace. A soldier had managed to only nick his cheek as he dissipated again and sliced cleanly through the stomachs of another circle of units, their guts spilling through their armour in great drops of organs and blood. Drawing the Void Sword he stood before the small amount of warriors left. They swallowed and gapped as the devastation of the battle field flooded their senses. Mutilated corpses laid strewn across the churned mud, their insides visible and their blood pooling around them. Crows descended from the trees to pick at the soft fleshy eyes of the men in the quiet, and Dracula flicked his sword tip, the blood splattering across a small dark patch of grass. A soldier raised his head and stepped forward, the tip of his blade over his neck before he drew it across and slumped forward in the dirt, blood draining from his body as he went limp, dead. Dracula only eyed the others briefly before he hissed and grabbed one by the throat, sinking his teeth into the flesh of the man's neck with ease.

The other soldiers scattered quickly, but fell victim to the surviving minions closing in around the ram. The solider in Dracula's grasp spammed and gasped before he went limp, his eyes closing. Fresh blood slid down Gabriel's front, coating his ashen skin in another layer of coagulated crimson. The priest, still stood on the ram, struggled to breath and watched as Dracul sighed, throwing the young man aside like a rag doll before he averted his attention upwards to the old man mumbling prayers and curses. Growling he dissipated and appeared before the holy man, a snarl curling his nose up and his lips downwards in reproach.

"I was once like that. Muttering phrases and texts to deliver myself from the evil in this world, the darkness. Look at me now priest. See what your God did to me? How he repaid me for that faith?" The priest looked at him, still muttering verses of the Old Testament and Latin banishing curses. "You will die like the rest. Do not let His power fool you, for He needs the darkness to keep order in this world, He created." He grabbed the Priest by the throat, hoisting him into the air, cutting off the air supply to his trachea by squeezing with an ever increasing pressure. The man spluttered and wheezed, finally ceasing his rantings as Dracula applied even more strain to the windpipe. He drew the man close and snarled lowly in his ear.  
"Your God cannot, and will not, save you." He then growled, hearing the sickening sound of several cracks as the bones in the brother's neck snapped, and his head fell limp. With a heave, he tore his claws through the muscles of the neck and ripped the head loose.

Blood dripping down his wrists and staining the black cuffs of his sleeves, Dracula stood atop the gate, the severed head in hand and planted a pike into the stone. With one last look into the glassy blue eyes of the crusader, he plunged the head onto the blade and dissipated in a cloud of red mist. The head slumped slightly on top of the head of the pike, the mouth set into a silent scream as it peered out across the buildings of the city as a warning to all those who dared to enter the castle, or speak out against the forces of darkness. Dracula slumped in his chair, back in the throne room, his hands tracing the patterns of the carvings.

"Let them sing."

This was his empire. Their songs would do little to save them now.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **This is based off the song by Bring Me The Horizon- Empire (Let them sing). I claim no rights to the song that solely belongs to the band.**

 **Reviews and favourites etc are all greatly appreciated.**

 **Spookworm**


End file.
